


These changes ain’t changing me

by aewriting



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gun Violence, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting
Summary: Forced into a desperate situation, Michael makes a deal with his kidnappers and struggles with the fallout.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 10
Kudos: 130





	These changes ain’t changing me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please be aware of the tags. This work contains an explicit description of sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.

He remembers the Pony. Remembers drinking, too much. Alcohol and acetone. Sloppier than usual. Remembers... fuck, remembers Maria’s dark, disapproving look, though. Remembers Alex’s too. Shit.

What he doesn’t remember, though, is this goddamn head wound, getting knocked unconscious, being bound to a fucking chair and covered in...

The stuff, the stuff that’s all over him, it’s a powder. Yellow. Oh fuck. Pollen.

Well, this changes things. Whoever has him, they know. Or at least strongly suspect.

Fuck, his head hurts. He’s woozy, still, with the pain from whatever head trauma he sustained. He makes himself breathe, assess the situation. 

He’s in a motel room, cheap looking. He’s been stripped of his jacket, his hat. Two men in the room, that he can see, playing with their phones at a table in the corner.

They look similar, like they could be related. Big guys, both of them. They’re not covering their faces, which doesn’t necessarily bode well. They don’t look military, either, which just confuses Michael. 

The one wearing a trucker hat notices Michael’s awake first. He’s up fast, wearing a smug smile. He has a fat lip and a black eye. Huh.

“There he is.”

Michael just shakes his head, frowns at the guy. “The fuck do you want, man?”

“Just you, you freak.”

The other guy at the table is just watching Michael with narrowed eyes. “It’s just like they said - you’d have no idea, if you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Michael asks.

“That you’re an alien,” says the guy at the table, matter of fact.

Michael scoffs. “Alien? Where is it you think I’m from, exactly? Mexico? Canada?”

Black Eye smirks. “Antar, according to our client.”

Shit. “That European?”

Guy at the table rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” He directs his attention to the other guy. “Don’t talk to him.” 

Black Eye rolls his eyes. “Nothin’ else to fuckin’ do around here. You know how I get, after a fight.”

Michael chuckles a little, at that. “Looks like I got you pretty good, huh?”

Black Eye freezes for a moment, confused. Stares at Michael then bursts into laughter. Even the guy at the table chuckles softly.

“What?”

“You think you did this?” Black Eye says, incredulous, gesturing to his battered face. “Wow. Must’ve hit you harder than I thought.” He narrows his eyes. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Hey, cool it,” says the guy at the table, a note of irritation in his voice. “Client wants him alive. For all we know, random parts might be worth something.” He stares at Michael. “Blood. Teeth.”

That’s... unsettling. Gets the other guy to stand down, though, return to the table and resume fiddling with his phone. At first he’s playing a game - Candy Crush or some shit. But then...

Guy at the table slams his own phone down in frustration. “Dude. Seriously?”

And yup, Black Eye’s definitely watching porn. Right here in the open in front of two other dudes.

“What? If you just let me go out to the bar - “

“No!” Guy at the table says, exasperated. “Jesus fuck, we’re on a job! Control yourself, or at least go back in the fuckin’ bathroom or something, god.”

Black Eye heaves a sigh, grabs his phone, and stands up. Walks toward the bathroom but pauses near Michael. Considers him.

Oh no. No no no.

“How ‘bout him?”

Guy at the table makes a face. “Since when are you into gay shit?”

“Gay?” The guy scoffs. “This thing isn’t even human. Don’t think it counts.”

“Dude, you’re disgusting,” mutters the guy at the table, but he’s already half distracted.

Michael’s tightening his grip on the chair and clenching his jaw, as if that will keep this guy out.

“What do you say, E.T.?”

Michael swallows hard, forces back the rising panic he feels. “I’ll bite it the fuck off,” he grits out. “Don’t think I won’t. Go jack it in the bathroom, you piece of - fuck!”

Guy’s hand is in his curls now, pulling hard, jerking Michael’s head back at a painful angle. “Things aren’t gonna go well for you if you do that.”

“I’ll fight you every step,” Michael promises. “And I don’t think your buyer would like the looks of me very much if I did that.”

Black Eye does pause, then. His eyes flick over to the guy at the table, who responds with a slightly raised eyebrow. Black Eye clenches his jaw, at that, and releases Michael’s head.

Michael exhales, tries not to show his relief. 

“Fine,” Black Eye mutters. “Fine. I’ll just go next door then.”

Next door?

Guy at the table scoffs. “You serious?”

Now it’s Black Eye who’s raising an eyebrow.

“Jesus, okay then. Go.”

“I’ll be quick,” Black Eye says, and he looks at Michael, smirking. “Heard your friend has some experience.”

Michael goes cold. His... his friend? 

“For real?” Guy at the table’s brow is furrowed.

Black Eye shrugs. “That’s the rumor at the Pony, after Eric asked around.”

“Shit!” Guy at the table hisses. “No names, you fuckin’ moron!”

Black Eye is knocking at the interior door of the motel, the one that connects directly to the adjoining room. Michael strains to see, to hear. He could be bluffing. There could be nobody next door, nobody at all. 

Or it could be Maria. Liz. Isobel, oh god. Alex, even. They were all there last night, at the Pony.

“How’s the prisoner?” Black Eye’s asking through the open door.

“Still out,” comes the reply in an unexpectedly deep voice.

Black Eye nods. “Well let me know when he’s up. Gonna have him help me with something,” he says, punctuating his remarks with a crude gesture.

Him. Alex, then. Shit.

“Yeah?” Deep Voice says, interested. 

“Wait,” Michael says. Black Eye freezes, turns toward him. 

“What?”

Michael hates feeling like this. Desperate. “I’ll do it. Just... just leave him the fuck alone and I’ll do whatever you want.” He swallows, tries to shove the panic down, tries to talk himself into it. “Suck... suck all of you off, if that’s what you want. Just - “ he falters, “just don’t touch him.”

Black Eye’s just staring at him, a strange look on his face. “Wait. Are you and him, like...”

“No,” Michael says, too quickly.

A feral smile spreads across his face. “That’s why he came after you, in the parking lot. It’s why you’re doing this now. Huh.” He regards Michael carefully. Guy at the table is watching, too.

If, if he does this, he buys them time. Keeps them distracted. Maybe Alex wakes up. Maybe... maybe the mess they make of him rubs some of this fucking pollen off, gets him his powers back. Maybe - 

Black Eye’s hand is gripping his hair again, even rougher this time. “No tricks, Cowboy. You do anything other than exactly what we tell you, and it’s your boyfriend that’s gonna pay, understand?”

Michael nods.

Black Eye releases his hair again and backs up a step. Smirks. “So,” he says, casually, as if Michael’s not tied to a chair, about to be assaulted, “you and him, huh? Heard he was ex-military, which explains this,” he says, pointing again to his fat lip, his shiner. “So I’m guessing that makes you the bitch.”

Michael’s jaw tightens, and he says nothing, wants nothing more than to have his powers back online and explode this motherfucker’s head.

Black Eye’s got his dick out now, is working it in his hand. It’s not especially long, but it’s thick. Michael glares at him.

“You like this? Nice fat dick to suck on?” He smirks, and his hand’s on Michael’s throat, squeezing. “Open the fuck up or I go give this to your boyfriend. And I won’t be half as nice with him.” 

The thought of this, this shitstain getting his hands on Alex makes Michael nauseous. Never breaking eye contact, Michael opens his mouth.

Black Eye’s rough with him, which he expected. His, his throat’s gonna be a mess after this. A fucking mess. For god’s sake, he’s gonna be a mess. While it’s happening, he tries to just... just go somewhere else. Black Eye keeps trying to tug him back to the present, with taunts, insults. Pain. But Michael drifts. 

And then it’s done, without warning, all over his face and t-shirt, and he hopes to god it’s taken some of the pollen off... but not enough. He still can’t feel his powers.

Guy at the table hasn’t gotten up, but is watching carefully. The man from the other room, though, is clearly interested. “Think he said he’d suck us all off, yeah?”

“That’s what I heard,” says Black Eye with a smug little grin. “Must really want it.”

Michael looks down, spits on the floor. A hand’s gripping him, then, hard, under his chin. Black Eye, again. “Say it.”

“Say what?” Michael asks, voice rough. 

“Say that you want it.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters. Black Eye raises an eyebrow. And Michael hates assholes like this, who are into humiliation and twisted power trips. “I want it,” he mutters. 

Black Eye grins, triumphant. “All yours,” he says to the guy from the other room, Eric. 

“Thanks, man,” Eric says, as if he’d just given him a stick of fucking gum. Black Eye withdraws his hand from Michael’s chin and steps out of the way, allowing Eric to take his place.

Where Black Eye was fast and rough, Eric is slow. Takes his time. Detached, almost. It’s weird, rote. More like Michael’s a, a thing, and not a person...

Well. He’s not a person. Not at all, and certainly not to this guy.

And it hits him, right then, that these are the first sexual experiences he’s ever had with people who knew. Knew that he was different. Alien. If he wasn’t, would that have mattered?

With the way this guy’s gripping him, thrusting into him, the relentlessness of it, the way his buddy had offered up Alex as an alternative... No. He doesn’t think it would have mattered one damn bit. Not to these guys.

But what about to Maria? 

To Alex?

The guy on him now, Eric, he starts mixing it up. Pushing in deep one moment, nearly gagging him, then the next pulling out completely and making him lick him all over.

Michael doesn’t know which is worse.

It’s terrible. It’s all terrible.

And yet... hasn’t he done more, for less?

Like that time when he was twenty. Back of that dude’s van outside the club in Albuquerque. Alex had just left, again, only for war this time - the Middle East and active combat and all that horseshit. And Michael just wanted to forget.

At the time, he could still feel Alex, was still sore. He’d begged him to go hard, give him a reminder, something to walk around with, take with him, and it worked - he could still feel Alex, even as the other guy, the stranger, was fucking into him. It hurt. Michael didn’t know, then, that it shouldn’t have hurt so much. He’d just thought Alex was different. Special. 

There would be other guys, and he’d learn. Learn that the first not-Alex time was kind of fucked up. Learn that it could be fun with other guys. Enjoyable.

But Alex was still different. Still special.

He’d gotten nothing out of it, that time in the van. Nothing but a hollow feeling and the grim satisfaction of saying that Alex wasn’t the only guy who’d ever fucked him.

At least now, he was getting something. Getting them away from Alex. Keeping him safe. And wasn’t that worth it?

Eric’s quiet, not a talker like Black Eye. He keeps throwing Michael off - it’s like he can’t find a real rhythm to things until the end. “Swallow,” Eric’s saying, commanding, really, and then it’s done.

“You want a go?” Black Eye is asking the guy at the table. “He’s pretty good.” He looks at Michael then. Winks. “Your boyfriend’s lucky.”

Fuck.

“I dunno,” guy at the table’s saying. “I’ve never really done anything with a guy before.”

“But he’s not really a - “

There’s a loud noise, and Eric falls to the ground, gripping his arm. There’s blood, a lot of it, sleeping through his shirt.

“Fuck!” screams Black Eye. “Eric? Eric!”

“You left your fucking gun in the other room?”

Eric tries to answer, but it’s nothing more than a pained gasp.

And then there’s Alex at the door, terrible and beautiful and full of rage - a rage that suddenly flips over into something frighteningly blank as soon as he sees Michael.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three head shots. Three kills.

“You... you...” Michael sputters.

Alex is already going through the pockets of the guy at the table - what’s left of him. His hands are still cuffed together, in front of him. Michael looks at his heavily bruised wrists. He must have broken the wooden slats of the chair, wriggled his cuffed hands down over his ass and legs to get them in front of him...

Alex isn’t looking at him as he’s using a little key to uncuff Michael’s hands. “Do mine now,” he says, and Michael obliges. Takes the little key with shaky hands and frees Alex’s wrists. 

Alex doesn’t even bother rubbing them. “Can you walk?”

“I...”

“Can you walk?” Alex repeats, louder, eyes flashing with impatience. Fury.

Michael nods.

“Up. Move. We need to get to the car. Even in a shithole like this someone’s bound to have called the cops by now.”

Michael just keeps nodding.

“You touch anything?”

Michael stares at him, and this is the first Alex falters.

“With... with your hands. Anything?”

Michael shakes his head no.

“Okay. Okay then. We need to move. I’ll drive.”

Michael doesn’t protest. Lets Alex manhandle him into the car. Alex screeches out of the parking lot, finds the highway, and drives.

Michael says nothing. Loses time, he thinks. Or maybe he sleeps? He couldn’t say. Just knows that when he’s awake, aware again, they’re still driving. He doesn’t know if it’s the same highway. Everything’s just dark.

And Alex is dark too, in his way. Clenching his jaw and looking straight ahead at the long stretch of highway ahead.

“Hey,” Michael says, and Alex whips his head to the side.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” Michael’s voice is rough. “Where are we?”

“Colorado,” Alex says shortly. “Just need to find a motel and dump this, then we’ll figure out next steps.”

“Okay. You... you have a towel or something?”

Alex frowns. Spares a glance at him and grimaces.

“I want... want to get some of this pollen off of me. Still don’t have my powers and I thought maybe if I got cleaned up...”

Alex inhales sharply. “We’ll stop soon and then... yeah. You clean up. You... you need to get cleaned up after...” He trails off. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them sooner.”

And Michael actually laughs, at that. “Sooner, Alex? God, wish they’d never gotten you at all.”

“They should have never gotten you!” It’s louder than Michael expects. “God, if I’d been... if this was three years ago they wouldn’t have left the damn parking lot, let alone...” He trails off again. “I know what you did, back there, for me.”

Michael just shrugs. “It worked. Bought you time, and you got us out of there.”

He watches as Alex’s grip tightens on the wheel. He says nothing. They drive a little longer before Alex pulls into a cheap looking motel. Parks. Looks at Michael.

“Go,” Michael says, no hesitation. “Not like I can come with you, looking like this.” Alex’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t protest, just slams the door harder than normal and goes to the motel office.

Before Michael even realizes it, Alex is pulling open the door to the nondescript van they stole from their kidnappers. “Room 118,” he says, and Michael follows him, glad it’s dark. Alex unlocks the door and flicks on the light. Two beds. 

“I’m gonna...” Michael says, and Alex nods quickly. 

“Yeah. That’s a good idea. Just...” he looks at Michael, then down at the floor. “You might want to just... just get in there. The shower. Like, don’t look, okay? Just get cleaned up first.”

“That bad?” Michael asks, voice tight.

Alex isn’t meeting his eyes. Can’t? He shakes his head. “I know you’ll do what you’ll do, but...” He sighs. “Yeah, it’s bad.”

Michael purses his lips, nods. “Nah, makes sense. They...” He stops, doesn’t even want to say it. “They messed me up pretty good,” he finishes, quiet.

He goes in the bathroom, closes the door tight and does try to avert his eyes. Tries. Still catches his reflection in the mirror. Shudders. Alex was right. It’s bad. He makes himself turn away, strip out of his clothes.

It’s a long shower, hot as he can stand, for as long as the temperature holds out. He tries to be thorough, but the products are cheap, the washcloth scratchy. He feels bad, briefly, for using all the hot water. He knows Alex should get cleaned up, too.

He says as much as he exits the shower. Alex just stares. “I can wait,” he says, and goes into the bathroom himself. Michael has no clothes. He sits on the bed in his towel until Alex emerges. “Need my boxers,” Michael says, by way of explanation.

“Yeah, of course,” Alex says quickly. “I saw a Wal-Mart off the exit. I’ll go there as soon as I wake up tomorrow. Get us some new clothes, a burner phone. They must have gotten rid of ours cause they weren’t in the room. Didn’t want anyone tracking us that way, I guess. We can dump the car afterwards and figure out a way back to Roswell.”

“Kyle or Liz are probably our best bets.”

“Yeah. We’ll need to make sure no one else has come sniffing around the Pony.”

Michael nods. “Yeah, they were talking about... a client. A buyer. Knew I was an alien. Isobel needs to know.” He frowns. “Should, should we go now, you think?”

Alex bites his lip a little. “I think we both need rest.”

Michael exhales - he feels grateful, honestly. “Yeah.”

He watches as Alex strips down, doesn’t bother turning away. His right leg looks rough. He’s bruised, but not badly. “You got the other guy pretty good,” Michael says.

Alex looks up, surprised and almost... upset? “Not good enough,” he mutters. He’s down to boxer briefs now, ones Michael’s never seen before. He gets under the covers of the other bed. Sighs and looks at Michael. “Lights on or off?”

Michael actually does debate it, for a second. “Off.”

It’s quiet, then. He can hear Alex breathing. It’s steady. He wonders, wonders if he’s counting, actually, timing out the breaths, cause it’s too even.

“Thank you.” It just bursts out of him, unplanned. He hears Alex’s inhale, his stutter of breath. It emboldens Michael. “For comin’ after me, at the Pony. Putting up a fight when I couldn’t. Getting us out of there.” He pauses. “Especially after everything I -“

“Of course, Michael. Of course I came after you. You’re,” his voice breaks, “you’re still my family.”

It hangs there, Alex’s statement. Michael doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Reverts to dark humor. “Well, you’ve got a shitty family. Guess I fit right in.”

“Stop,” comes Alex’s voice, surprisingly steady. “Just, just don’t, with that, okay?” A deep breath. “I know you’re hurting right now. I know they hurt you.”

And Michael chuckles mirthlessly at that. “Blowjob or two? Hurt me?” He feels like lashing out. Knows it’s misplaced. Does it anyway. “Was a time that was just a Friday night.”

He hears a noise from the other bed, soft but pained.

“Hell, this isn’t even the first time you’ve walked in on me.”

It really isn’t. Months ago, before he got his shit together with Maria, Alex had seen him. In the bathroom at the Pony. Michael pretended like he didn’t see Alex, in the mirror, but he did. He’d been with Becky Colón that night. Not, not dissimilar looking to Liz, actually - petite and curvy. Brunette. Eagerly bent over the sink, urging Michael on while Alex just stared, too still, before silently turning right back around.

Alex is breathing is that damnably even cadence again. “Guerin...” he says, and he sounds desperate, pleading. He must hear it too, because he stops. Takes another breath. “You were just raped. If... if this was any other circumstance we’d be at a goddamn hospital right now, not a motel. So, so please...”

“Please what, Alex?” Michael asks, a warning in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Alex whispers, and it’s not the words that do it, but the tone. Deflates Michael then and there. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he’s not even sure what for - goading Alex just now, the spiral of the last few months, their confrontations over Project Shepherd... he’s sorry. For any of it. All of it.

And Alex, Alex seems to get it. “Okay Guerin. Okay,” he murmurs. It’s the last thing Michael hears before he falls asleep.

As soon as he wakes, he knows he’s slept too long. Sun’s bright through the edges of the blackout blinds. 

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Alex is muttering, voice low. “Can you get here or not?” A heavy sigh. “Good. See you this afternoon.” His head snaps up at the rustling of Michael’s sheets. “He’s awake, so I’m gonna go.” A pause. “Thank you.” Alex hangs up, looks at Michael. “Kyle’s on his way.” He frowns at Michael. “How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” Michael replies. “But, but better than last night. 

Alex nods tightly. “You were really out. I stepped out soon as I got up. Got you these,” he says, gesturing to a small pile of dark, nondescript clothes. Michael’s sure he got them cheaply, from Wal-Mart, and they’re still nicer than most of what he owns. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Alex nods his acknowledgment. “You... you need to call anyone?” He swallows. “Maria?”

Michael looks skyward. “Nah. I... it’s not that unusual for me to just, like, go radio silent for a while. With her. Between the bunker, the lab, the turquoise mines...”

“Got it,” Alex says tightly. “Brought you some water. Granola bars.”

Michael’s eyes must go wide, because Alex is putting a bottle of water and a bar on the side of the bed without Michael saying a word. Michael guzzles the water in one go, tears at the wrapper of the bar. Before he even finishes it, Alex has given him another bottle, another bar. 

“Thanks, for all of this.”

“Of course.”

Between bites, Michael studies him. He’s so tense, paler then usual, which just makes the bags under his eyes all the more prominent. “You eat too?”

Alex nods. 

“Who was that, on the phone just now?”

“Kyle.”

“You tell him?”

There’s no elaboration needed. “Told him you were attacked. We were attacked. Figure you can disclose what you want, beyond that. I’ll follow your lead.”

“For real?” Michael sets down the second water bottle. “Not gonna make me tell Kyle, cause he’s a doctor?”

Alex holds his gaze, albeit a bit unsteadily. “People have done enough to you, against your will. This is your call.”

Michael bobs his head, bites his lip a little.

Alex clears his throat. “Whatever you decide though, I’m here okay? Like, if, if you’d ever want that, okay? Need to talk or anything. About this. I mean, not just this. Anything. But I won’t, like, make you, you know?” It’s not like Alex to babble, not at all. “And, and until I get the word from you, I’ll keep my distance, like I was doing. Like you asked me to.”

Michael knows he’s hurt him. Knows that he could still have him, and knows that on some level, he wants him.

And he’s not a stupid man. He knows Maria’s going to find out about his being an alien, and all that comes with that. Sooner rather than later, probably. Knows it could mean the end of them and this easy, soothing thing they’ve found.

But god, how he wants to pretend. Pretend his differences are run of the mill. Pretend it was his choice not to go to college. Pretend he hasn’t buried bodies, broken hearts. Pretend he wasn’t forced, last night.

Pretend, pretend, pretend. With Maria, it’s easy to pretend.

He looks at Alex, then, all dark hair and eyes. He’s killed for Michael, now. And he knows Michael, in a way no one else does or ever really could - knows he’s an alien, knows what makes him lash out and what makes him fall apart. Knows what he’s capable of, and knows his particular brand of fucked up. Knows the deal he struck last night. Knows... knows he’d do it again without question. Knows too much, really.

Which is why, with Alex, he can’t pretend. 

But he’s also not ready to face reality.

So he sighs. Throws the granola bar wrapper on the floor. Makes a show of stretching his body until Alex has to look away. “Let’s see what’s on tv,” he says, overly casual. 

And Alex stares at him, too long, until Michael can’t stand it. Turns on the television and watches for hours. Till Alex shuts it off because Kyle’s actually there, in the room with them, brow furrowed, asking to check them over. They both refuse.

And they make it back to Roswell.And he goes to see Maria. Apologizes for his weekend bender. Goes to work. Goes to the lab.

Stuffs the memories of the weekend down, down with the others - the group home, the abuse, the drifter, the shed, Caulfield, Noah, Max... 

He avoids Alex.

And he pretends.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I am aewriting on tumblr as well.


End file.
